


The Last Voyage of the Lonely Zubmariner

by ArchibaldCrayfish



Category: Sunless Sea
Genre: Ambition: Your Father's Bones, August Travel-Writer, Canon-Typical Cannibalism reference, Gen, Zubariner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:35:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25266208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchibaldCrayfish/pseuds/ArchibaldCrayfish
Summary: The short tale of how a Sturdy Zee-Vessel was brought down by rotten luck.
Kudos: 6





	The Last Voyage of the Lonely Zubmariner

It was an uncharacteristically hushed evening in the Arrant Limpet. Corsairs, smugglers, and patrons of slightly less discernible identities huddled around their tables, as if an unseen presence was clogging the air. The Shadowed Stranger pushed a dubious mug of wine across the table. Quivering hands received it appreciatively, and the Haunted Doctor took a long sip, closing his eyes as he savored the wine.

Lowering the mug, the Doctor asked, "Tell me, what can I do for you to deserve such kindness?"

The Shadowed Stranger stared intently, his(?) own drink untouched. "The last voyage of the Lonely Zubmariner."

The Haunted Doctor sighed, and took one more pull from his mug. "I knew someone would ask someday. You'll have to keep the wine coming though."

"If I'd been on board when we picked up that damn writer, maybe I could have prevented everything. But then again, only a drownie can tell rotten honey before he's tasted it.

* * *

Our Captain, the Lonely Zubmariner (oh yes, you thought that was our ship didn’t you), was an accommodating and adventurous individual, and had agreed to carry that Salt-forsaken _schriftsteller_ across the Zee to make notes and experiences for stories. So far he'd caused us no trouble, but the crew started to get nervous when he'd ask to disembark and disappear for an evening, wandering back with an empty ink-pot and a knowing smile.

The bad feeling started when he asked to be let off at Khan's Heart. It wasn't unlike the feeling you get after realizing you've...after you've dined at the Chapel of Lights. The officers and I tried to voice our concerns to the Captain. I reasoned that our standing in the Khanate was already questionable, and such a visit could jeopardize the safety of the whole crew. I'd even have felt safer bringing him to Irem, as there will plenty there that he...will experience? Ah, never mind.

In any case, the Captain told me, in the soothing, confident tone I had become used to, that we would deliver the writer as promised and sail on.

On November 9th, 1889, our ship glided into Khan's Heart. Our crew worked uneasily, some idling in close proximity to the deck gun, others eyeing the inscrutably lit windows of the Copper Quarter with growing unease. We filed like clay men onto the docks to stretch our legs, but no one even considered asking for proper shore leave. My gut feeling had spread to the entire crew, crawling into their hearts and infecting them with the kind of gloom I've come to expect only from those who have seen the moment of their own death.

As the Captain set out to gather muttered whispers for the port report, the Writer asked permission to roam as he pleased. The Captain nodded silently and drifted into the folds of the Copper Quarter. We watched mutely from the dock as the Travel-Writer paced up and down the top deck, scribbling in that notebook of his. After a quarter-hour, he called down to us, asking to descend into the bowels of our engine room. Still silent, the engineer's mate trudged back up onto the ship and led the writer down into the engine room.

We sat in silence another while. The gunner, irrepressible fellow, in an attempt to raise our spirits, started up an old Zee shanty. Drunken Zailor, a tune we all knew well.

A roar. A colossal boom to deafen the Fathomking himself. The ship bucked in front of us, the docks shook, fire belched from the hold, and the fore hull ruptured, leaving a hole the size of a dreadnought's smokestack. Who knows what that August Travel-Writer stuck his fingers in, but it was the last thing he did.

The Captain came dashing to the dock, Khaganian port authorities close behind. A quick assessment told us everything we needed to know: she would never again be seaworthy. The Captain pleaded with the authorities, asking for repairs, refuge, another ship, any chance of survival. The Captain offered to pay any price for the safety of the crew. The officials apologetically offered three hundred echoes by way of recompense, but said they could do no more. The Khanate expected us out of port within the hour.

I had never seen the Captain look defeated in my life, but there was no mistaking that look in the eyes that swept over us. The Captain simply beckoned and solemnly headed up the gangplank. We all glanced at each other, and followed. I have never since heard prayers to Salt, Storm, and Stone uttered in the same breath as those zailors did.

The gunner grinned at me wistfully. 'Beats Khaganian prison.' He walked on board, humming a shanty, and I followed.

There is little I can bring myself to tell you of those final hours aboard that nameless ship. The water was already creeping onto the deck by the time we cleared Ogedei's Bridge. It was not long before we had sunk deep beneath the Zee, to be remembered only by a minor incident report in the harbormaster's log."

* * *

The Haunted Doctor put down his empty cup and sighed. "I caught a floating crate and ended up in Khan's Shadow. But every other soul aboard went straight to the Zee floor. I bartered passage to the Mourn, and I've stayed here ever since." He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a folded, wrinkled bundle of paper that looked like it had traveled as much of the Zee as any zailor. “The Captain said that someday, after our time together was long past, a stranger would approach me with questions about the Lonely Zubmariner. I was told to give this to you.” The Doctor slid the bundle across the table. “Never opened it. No idea what it says.”

The Shadowed Stranger looked down at the diminutive package and seemed ponder. The Stranger then reached into his(?) coat, and dropped a pouch of echoes on the table.

“Oh please, it’s really not necessary. The wine was enough, thank you.”

The Shadowed Stranger pushed the purse towards the doctor. “This is your signing bonus. I’ll meet you at the docks in three hours.”

Taken aback, the Doctor took the purse, nodded his thanks to the stranger, and walked unsteadily out the door.

As the Doctor meandered into the night, the Stranger untied the bundle, unfolded the papers within, and by the dim lights of the Arrant Limpet, he read these words.

_The Zee has claimed me, though it has yet to make good on its claim. If you are reading this, I know it has come to pass. Within are the deeds to the remains of my fortune. Use it to make your own name on the Zee as I have and my father before me._

_I have but this else to say. Remember that in the Neath death is not always the end, and not all delve beneath Zee perish. Do not lose hope that we will meet again. Look for me, my son(?), and along the way you will find wonders beyond imagination._

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired to write this in honor of a bug from when the Zubmariner expansion first released. If you fail the action for the August Travel-Writer plot in Khan's Heart, it was supposed to take out half your hull, but the bug made it destroy your ENTIRE hull, meaning that the moment you set sail, your ship immediately sank.
> 
> I originally made this as a [reddit post](https://www.reddit.com/r/sunlesssea/comments/58dr4g/the_last_voyage_of_the_lonely_zubmariner/) in 2016.


End file.
